


Barbara Gordon’s Stucco-Stipple Problem

by niteynyx



Series: Nitey's Commissions [43]
Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Creampie, Exhibitionism, F/M, Facials, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Silly, Strangers to Lovers, Stripping, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:09:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29960730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niteynyx/pseuds/niteynyx
Summary: Cut off from her cash flow, Barbara Gordon finds herself in desperate need of a job, if for no other reason than to scrape Dick’s hideous popcorn ceiling flat now that he’s out of her life. But a job means less time for her education and crime fighting, sacrifices she isn’t willing to make. Luckily for her, she finds something she can do while defending Gotham’s citizens from its worst scum. Anonymous commission.
Relationships: Barbara Gordon/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Nitey's Commissions [43]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1896736
Kudos: 3





	1. Stucco

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading this on day one, the second chapter is available elsewhere but you'll need to check my Twitter to find it. It will be posted publicly on Friday.

Slowly, Barbara Gordon opened her bleary blue eyes and gazed up at her ceiling sleepily. If there was one thing she hated about her life, it  _ had _ to be her condo’s ceiling. That hate got her out of bed every day -- and every night, for that matter. 

The only daughter of Gotham City’s famous police commissioner had a strange sleeping schedule that bewildered all of her friends and family, waking up bright eyed and bushy tailed for the morning but hitting the hay in the middle of the afternoon. She would then wake up a few hours from midnight and stay up until the wee hours of the morning, catching a nap until seven forty-five AM sharp. 

The unusual routine was like clockwork to her, something she fully meant to rinse and repeat ad nauseam for the rest of her life, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty five days a year. Not that she’d take a vacation on a leap year or anything like that. Babs crooked a little smile and stretched out languidly in her tangled sheets, before reaching down to the warm and fuzzy lump laying over her thighs. She scratched her cat Huntress right behind her ear, relaxing and just enjoying the noisy vibrations of the kitty’s purring.  _ The only thing that would  _ **_ever_ ** _ stop me is a stray bullet to the spine, _ Barbara thought to herself. Her sleepy smile dimmed down just a shade.

“That’s a very specific example,” she mumbled to herself, though she decided not to dwell on why it jumped to the forefront of her mind, and why she could almost feel a phantom pain in her spinal column. Barbara let out a slow breath, then turned her head and peered at her clock. Seven fifty PM. She didn’t need to get up for another ten minutes. Her night job wouldn’t kick off for another hour after that. Deciding to just enjoy her feline company while she had it, Barbara looked back up towards the ceiling she loathed so much.

Some people called it an acoustic ceiling. Others called it a stucco, or a stipple. Most people knew it as a popcorn ceiling. But to Barbara Gordon, it was just an ugly ceiling that  _ had _ to go. One year ago, when she broke up with Dick Grayson and he  _ ever-so-generously  _ let her keep the fully-paid condo before fucking off to Bludhaven to roleplay being a Kryptonian bird, she told herself that when she could afford to, she would remove that stupid, ugly eyesore that Dick loved so much. He thought it was  _ classy _ . Well, they’d see how classy he felt it was when she sent him all the scraped-off parts of it in an expedited parcel.

The pair’s ugly breakup caused no shortage of problems for Barbara. Chief amongst them was how difficult it made balancing her school with her moonlight job as Batgirl. While Dick was covering her bills and their living expenses, Barbara didn’t have to work. She could even fit in a little bit of a social life into her day-to-day routine. Without him, well, she  **desperately** needed cash. 

The only way she could possibly fit a real job into her routine was if she cut back on her education or if she cut back on crime fighting. Barbara wasn’t willing to do either. For the first two weeks, she relied on her father’s support, but as a public servant he wasn’t exactly rolling in cash. Bruce, her mentor for almost a decade at that point, offered to cover her living expenses when he walked in on her in the Batcave going through a copy of  _ The Gotham Globe _ , cutting out job advertisements in the classifieds.

It was a tempting offer, but Barbara realized that was where all of Dick’s money came from. Hell, it was the money that paid for the condo she was living in. Her pride wouldn’t let her say yes to Bruce, even though her brain screamed at her to just say yes. She told him he had it covered. Of course, the moment Bruce left her alone, she just about had a nervous breakdown, cussing at herself for her own stupidity. Her pride wasn’t worth her stress, but unfortunately for the caped crusader, it was as stubborn as a bull.

The next day, she hit a bar with some of her friends, all of them eager to help their friend get over the loss of her handsome, rich boy toy, the one they were all certain she was going to shack up and settle down with. When she had the liquor flowing in, her worries started flowing out. Not that any of them knew about her double life as Batgirl -- she mostly just complained about how stressed she was over money. They probably all thought she was dreading the kinds of part-time jobs available in Gotham, and all the free time that work would take away from her. All of them made appropriately sympathetic noises to Barbara without ever saying what most of them were really thinking: “Sorry you lost your sugar daddy, but be glad you had one who  _ left you a fucking fully-paid condo _ , woman.”

Some of them suggested she rent out her two spare rooms, but that was straight up impossible. One of them housed a computer terminal that connected to the Batcave’s supercomputer, while the other was her armory slash training room. Renting them out would really just mean fucking with her crime-fighting career, and that was a hard no for her. All the girls started talking about employment opportunities after that, and for the most part Barbara tuned them all out. She just took shot after shot, wallowing in her little pool of self-inflicted misery, even considering calling Bruce and begging for his help.

Until one of her friends admitted, her voice hushed, that she had an easy job that paid extremely well while asking very little from her. Barbara’s ears practically pricked up, and her attention left her glass to focus on her girlfriend -- the second hottest of the bunch, right behind Barbara herself. An upper-class socialite with a rich sugar daddy of her own. No one ever questioned where she got the money for her designer clothes and accessories. That she had her own income, largely discreet, her earnings disproportionate compared to the amount of work she put in? That surprised them all.

“What is it?” one of them asked, and the table went quiet as everyone waited for her answer. When it came, they all burst out with laughter and gasps, surprised and scandalized. They all started grilling her after that… Barbara most of all. She smiled crookedly at the memory, then gave a start as her alarm went off. Once again, Barbara glanced at her clock. It was eight. It was time to get ready for another night of crime fighting.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

“Now,” Barbara whispered softly to herself, affecting a playful tone cut with just the slightest bit of throatiness. She had studied up on Marilyn Monroe to perfect it. The boys  _ loved _ it -- and the men, far more. “Observe how the mighty bat stalks her prey.” It was ridiculous, but that was the point. Shifting, Barbara -- now wearing her Batgirl costume -- adjusted herself carefully, in more ways than one. Perched atop a street light in a thighs-splaying crouch, her balance was a precarious thing. 

Most people would have fallen flat on their face within minutes if not seconds, but not Barbara. She had years of experience as Batgirl at that point, and it helped that she had three times as many years of gymnastics, acrobatics and ballet training. “Any moment now,” she sing-songed under her breath as she watched and waited, patient as a cat waiting to pounce a rat. Though, considering  _ she _ styled herself after a winged rodent…

She cut the thought off, her blue eyes brightening as her stake-out began to pan out. The Falcone family thugs rolled up in their unmarked black van, all four of them piling out as soon as it rolled to a stop. Barbara couldn’t help but smile. If only one of them would stop and look up, they’d get quite the eyeful, the kind of eyeful that would make them certain a life of crime was worth it. 

Though each wore a handsome, fitted Italian suit, they matched them with black ski masks and small arms -- two handguns, a sawn-off shotgun and even a submachine gun. They took a moment to discuss their plan. Barbara already knew everything from interrogating one of their cohorts earlier that night; they expected to storm the office of a nearby biotech company and make off with an expensive vaccine in development there. She was going to make sure they didn’t get past the lobby. “No one ever took the time to teach these guys how to accessorize,” she quipped softly. “Let’s fix that, boys and girls.”

Barbara was alone, but that didn’t mean she was talking to herself. There was just one thing left for her to do before descending on her quarry. She reached up to her chest and tugged off her bodycam, turning it around and grinning right into it. “See you all on the flipside,” she whispered, winking sassily before turning the camera about again. She leaned down and stuck it to the street light, where it would have a bird’s eye view over most of the action that would soon follow, peeking through the soon to be open doorway.

A year ago in that bar, her friend admitted to being a cam girl. Barbara followed in her footsteps, in a way no one would have expected the bookish beauty to ever do -- and in a way that only she, as Batgirl, ever could. 

The thugs smashed in the door, careless of the alarm they immediately set off. They filtered in quickly, the shouting and warning shots starting immediately -- both from them and from the security guard. Barbara felt a tinge of guilt for making him go through this, but it would make for a better show, a better story. She already had everything plotted and planned out in her head. Of course, she felt less guilty towards the scientists staying late that night, who were most assuredly panicking, unaware of how safe they were with Batgirl on the scene.

She counted to five in her head, and then it was go-time. Grabbing her grappling gun off her utility belt, she shot it into the sign just above the smashed door, then leaped off her perch and swung in behind them, feet first. Barbara took the four by surprise, swing-kicking the uzi-toting mobster square in his lower back. He yelped in surprise, flying forward and losing his grip on his weapon. As it went skittering across the floor, he hit the floor face first, body sprawling out. Though Barbara was sure he was taken out of the fight, she knew better than to take any chances; as her momentum continued to carry her forward, she released her grapple’s tight line and transitioned into a flip that had her twisting mid-air. The high heels of her yellow boots gave a solid click as they touched down on the floor, with Barbara smoothly lowering herself into a squat near the fallen thug’s head. 

As Batgirl, Barbara sold herself as elegance and grace incarnate, but justice sometimes had to be a bit more brutal and ham-fisted than that. She grabbed the back of the thug’s ski mask, jerking his head back and then slamming it down. Not  _ too _ hard, but enough to put him out like a light. A hush fell over the room as the thugs and the guard hiding behind the reception desk absorbed what happened. They were all surprised, though the former group was baffled and the latter was relieved. The silence felt much longer than it actually was. Barbara glanced up, flashing her winning smile at the men she was about to trounce. “I’m loving the coordinated outfits, but you boys  _ have _ to know how much the masks clash with your shoes,” she told them, her pretty blue eyes flaring wide. “Tell me you do.”

None of them reacted to her quip. None of them ever did. Instead, panic struck them. “Shit! It’s the Bat-Bitch!” one of the thugs shouted, lifting his handgun to take deadly aim at the heroine, holding the gun sideways. Barbara was embarrassed for the apparent newbie of the group and decided to take pity on him before he could empty his entire magazine without hitting everything in the room  _ but _ her. Quicker on the draw, she snapped her wrist back from the thug’s friend to grab a batarang from her utility belt and threw it forward with a flick of her wrist. Just as he squeezed the trigger and put a bullethole in the wall, the boomerang hit his wrist. He grunted in pain and surprise, the combination of his weapon’s recoil and the impact of the patented bat weapon sending his arm jerking back and his fingers flying open. 

The gun hit the ceiling several feet behind him, clattering to the floor. The other thug with a handgun knew better than to bother with firearms when it came to the Bat Family, though. He was probably a veteran of the Falcone family, and most likely bought into the old myth that Batman, Batgirl and Robin had superpowers and were impossible to hit with a bullet. Some of them believed it was because they were aliens; others believed it was an eldritch pact made with some demon bat-god called Barbados. The thug dropped his uzi and let out a wordless shout as he dived to tackle Barbara, but he was so big and so slow that he made her feel like she was the Flash.

Quick and nimble, Barbara shifted her weight and arched her back, showcasing her natural agility and trained flexibility as she followed the motion through all the way. One of her hands went behind her, pushing off the ground hard, the other following suit right afterwards. The backward handspring was almost more of a cartwheel, one leg kicking up after the other. She caught the thug in the gut with one of her heels, knocking the wind from him along with all of his momentum. The second caught him square in the jaw as he doubled over, rattling his skull and knocking his lights out. As he fell, she completed the maneuver, her heels clicking on the floor as she stood up straight and turned to face the last remaining thug, the one with the shotgun.

He saw the writing on the wall, and was already lowering his shotgun to the floor. “T-treat,” he stammered at Barbara as she planted her gloved hands on the curves of her hips. “Treat! Treat, I swear to god! Not trick, treat! I pick--”

“Treat?” Barbara threw her head back and laughed at him, far more delighted than she should have been. She held her pose for a moment, making sure her viewers at home had ample time to appreciate her costume and body in all its glory. When she first became Batgirl, she wore a skintight black suit. In spite of its fit, that original suit left a lot of her body to the imagination. While its dark colors helped her blend into the shadows, it also smudged out the distinct curves, lines and contours of her body. She did a complete overhaul of her costume when she began livestreaming her patrols, knowing her viewers weren’t coming for any justice that wasn’t purely euphemistic. 

‘Overhaul’ was generous, of course. She kept her cowl, her utility belt, her thigh-high high heeled boots and of course her elbow-length gloves. The rest of her original suit was just  _ gone _ , revealing most of her body to any curious eye, all pristine, sinfully soft skin over feminine toning. A g-string bearing the Bat Symbol just over her mound covered her pussy’s lips, her sweet bubble of an ass all but swallowing its butt flossing string. Most of her breasts were left on display, too. She barely skirted Gotham’s nudity laws with a pair of bat-shaped pasties stuck over her hard nipples. With her tits being far more than ample handfuls, she wore a modified cage bra that only served to support her girls throughout the night as she flipped through the air and fought criminals.

“I-- yeah,” the standing newbie, disarmed of his handgun, quickly added. “I pick treat, too. So, uh-- shit, lady, I don’t have health insurance--”

For Halloween, she let any criminal who surrendered and picked ‘treat’ get an up close and personal preview of her goodies. The really lucky ones got to watch her get off. One unlucky criminal -- or maybe exceptionally lucky -- even got a front row seat to her first squirt, surprising them both. The ones that picked ‘trick’ got a coupon code for the site she was streaming on, doubling their first purchase.

“Then  _ maybe _ you’re in the wrong line of work,” Barbara laughed again, shaking her head, her long red hair left tousled from her acrobatics. “You two do know that whole  _ trick or treat _ thing was just for Halloween, right? It doesn’t exactly make sense to do it in July,” she pointed out, relishing in how the two were now staring at her body in the calm after the storm, lust winning over their common sense over the danger they were in. 

Maybe that was her fault for garnering such a slutty reputation, though. Her new ‘costume’ was effective at drumming up business as well as leaving her enemies horny and distracted. These two probably thought they were going to get laid, which was of course  _ ridiculous _ . Just because she chose to dress like this didn’t mean she wanted their dirty old cocks, so she sure as hell wasn’t about to touch either of their dicks. But… well, they had surrendered, and her viewers ate stuff like this up.

Barbara glanced through the window at the street light, winking. “Fine,” she told the two of them. “But we’re doing it right here and right now, and you only have as long as it takes for the police to arrive.” She glanced over at their limp cohorts for a moment, then sashayed towards them. “Kneel down and take off your pants,” she ordered them. Beginning to grin like a pair of fools, they hurriedly obeyed. She inspected the  _ real _ heat they were packing with a critical eye, unable to deny how nice they looked. ‘No criminal cocks’ was a hard line for her, though. 

“There’s a good pair of boys,” Barbara whispered. A small microphone built into her cowl ensured her viewers wouldn’t miss a word of what happened. The bodycam itself was no ordinary piece of tech. Developed by Lucius Fox, it was equipped with a machine-learning AI that tracked and zoomed in on all of the best parts of what would soon follow. She slowly turned on her heel to show the pair her backside, hooking her thumbs into the sides of her thong. Bending at the waist, she peeled the skimpy pair of underwear down and over the curve of her ass. Down her thighs, down her knees, until she could simply step out of them. 

She twined them around her wrist with a deft movement. Once, she left her thong behind by accident. It went up on uBay and sold for just shy of a million dollars. Bruce sent them to her the next day, along with a  _ very _ stern note. He tried to be supportive of her choices, but that was one big fuck-up that she knew she deserved to be chewed out over. That done, Barbara reached behind herself and spread her bubbly ass wide open, giving the pair a clean look at her unspoiled asshole and the shaven, flushed and damp lips of her pussy. 

“See what law-abiding citizens can get a piece of?” she purred, glancing over her shoulder at them. She didn’t bother looking at the security guard, sure that he was either calling the cops, filming this on his smartphone, or jacking off. She didn’t care which.

“If you let me get a taste of that,” the veteran grunted, already touching himself, “I’ll never break another law in my life.” His junior thug accomplice quickly mumbled his agreement, face flushed with embarrassment and arousal.

Barbara smirked. “Sorry, honey. Maybe when you can pass a background check.” Holding herself open with one hand, she used her other hand to open a pouch on her utility belt and slip out her batabrator. It was time for her to get to work. She only had a few minutes at most before the police arrived, but with how horny she was -- and with two well-hung gentlemen to watch jerking off -- she knew she wouldn’t take long to get off. Barbara always came easily. The last time she faked it was with Dick, and that was only because he fucked like his money made his  _ other _ dick into candy.

She took the tip of her best friend into her mouth, lidding her eyes as she ran her tongue all over it and got it slick with her saliva, not that the batabrator would need it with how wet her cunt already was. Still, the boys -- both the pair with a front row seat and the ones watching her from the comfort of her own home -- would appreciate the sight. Once she was satisfied with its slickness, she slid it free of her mouth and down to the waiting delta between her thighs. It penetrated her cunt’s folds so easily that her pussy might as well have been pulling it in. “Fuck,” Barbara groaned softly as it went one inch into her, and then another. Four in and then she hit the switch that made the batabrator’s powerful motor buzz to life. She gasped sharply, then bit down savagely on her bottom lip, starting to fuck her tight little hole with her favourite toy.

When Barbara squeezed her pretty blue eyes shut, the masked thugs had a prime opportunity to beat a hasty retreat and evade the long arm of the law. There was no way she’d come after them while she was getting off, and probably not in her afterglow -- but instead their cocks bade them to stick around, hopeful that they might get lucky, that she might want to replace her famous batabrator with the real deal.

And when they could hear the distant sirens wailing, it was too late to get up and go anyway. Barbara bit down harder on her bottom lip, trying and failing to simply will herself into cumming before any of her father’s employees could bumble through the broken door and see, unbeknownst to them, their boss’ daughter masturbating in the middle of an interrupted B&E. The first patrol car’s tires squealed to a stop and the first officers on the scene cautiously approached the door. 

They didn’t see their boss’ daughter masturbating. They ended up watching her cum, though they could hear her first. Though the officers were supposed to wait for the rest of their back-up to arrive, Barbara’s squealing, moaning cry made them rush inside, certain a hostage had just been given a lethal lead injection. “Goddamnit,” one of them breathed as they lowered their sidearm, awkward but confident the situation was well in hand. “This is the third time this week, Batgirl.”

But Barbara didn’t hear him, her quivering thighs afflicting her knees with their shakiness. Groaning breathlessly, the cam girl slumped down, shudders and aftershocks running through her body. Clutching her precious batabrator in one hand, she fumbled around her utility belt for the other one, mindlessly knowing by rote that she had to get away before the police showed up, dimly aware they were already on the scene.

She grabbed a smoke bomb and threw it at the ground right before her. By the time the cloud wafted out of the store, she was long gone.


	2. Stipple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To celebrate one million subscribers, Barbara fucks a fan.

Barbara  _ loved _ her job. It was the only way she could think of to make money without sacrificing her education  _ or _ her crime fighting. At first she told herself that she was just doing it for the money and that she would stop when she had enough cash to get through school  _ and _ remove the stupid popcorn ceiling from her condo, but she kept putting it off. She kept moving her personal goal posts, but her loyal subscribers kept meeting them. 

One day, she finally told herself that if she hit one million subs, that would be it. She’d strip the stupid ceiling bare and be dumb with being a cam girl, a cam whore, a cam whatever. She had started the night at 975k. As she settled in on her rooftop base of operations, still shivering occasionally from her recent orgasm, she checked and saw she was twenty thousand  _ over _ a million.

She tried not to grin. She tried to remind herself she was supposed to be quitting. Instead, she felt a rising sense of excitement in her belly, and a fresh wave of arousal take over her body. But Barbara knew she couldn’t help herself, not with the achievement she just hit. The single most viewed and most subscribed cam girl in history, probably for perpetuity. And there was the matter of the one million sub raffle. One lucky fan in Gotham was about to get the fuck of their life, considering Barbara hadn’t had a cock to play with in what felt like forever. 

Resuming her stream, she announced the good news and popped open a random number generator to make the fateful draw.

*****-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-*****

He left the window open for her, just like she told him to. 

Barbara took in a deep breath and fought back the wanton smile that threatened to take over her facial features, not wanting the lucky fan who won the raffle to know how  _ really _ eager she was to ride his cock. This was going to be more special than that. John -- that’s the name she told him to use for the evening, she didn’t want him to get doxxed by another jealous fan -- was a virgin. She wasn’t just going to end her dry spell, she was going to pop his cherry, a first for her just like it was for him.

Switching on her body cam, the heroine slipped inside and took a look around the apartment. “Hey, guys,” she whispered softly to her audience. “Tonight, I’m live from the raffle winner’s house. He knows that I’m coming… but he doesn’t know  _ when _ .” That was a lie, of course, just something to spice up the show. Randomly bursting into a stranger’s house for an (admittedly expected) surprise fuck would be a  _ bit _ creepy of her, after all. The lucky fan had some simple instructions: be ready in bed by one AM, and pretend to be asleep. 

She removed the camera from its spot on her utility belt, turning it around and giving a slim smile up into its lens. Though she was able to resist her lust affecting her smile, she couldn’t keep the aroused flush from creeping up her neck and up her cheeks. Tonight, Barbara was  _ only _ wearing her cowl and utility belt. Once things kicked off, she didn’t want to have to fuck around with getting her clothes off. “This is what he’s getting tonight,” she murmured to her loyal fans, panning the camera down to show them just how tight her nipples were, and how her pussy was flushed dark and swollen, shaved smooth that morning. “And what any of you might get when I hit two million subscribers,” she added impulsively.

Barbara sure as hell wasn’t quitting at the peak of her lucrative career. Maybe when she hit three million she would reevaluate things. “Now,” she whispered to her audience, turning the camera back around and beginning to creep through the rooms. “Let’s go find the lucky man of the hour.” She wished she could watch the chat while this was going on. Maybe at some point, she’d get Lucius to build some kind of overlay into her cowl. 

Of course, Barbara didn’t have to go looking for where the bedroom was. She had already explored the apartment thoroughly while John was out earlier that evening, making sure he didn’t have any cameras installed to capture the action, or any supervillains in the wings waiting to take advantage of Barbara’s state.

Gently, she pushed open the door he left slightly ajar and slid inside, glancing around. He had the lights on dim, which suited her just fine. It was better than the camera displaying the entire (and quite literal) shebang in the bodycam’s night vision mode. She stuck the device on the wall and blew a kiss and a wink to her audience at home, then turned and prowled up to the side of the bed.

John lay on his side and under the covers, fighting his own grin back and keeping his eyes tightly shut. Barbara smiled wryly to herself, glad the camera couldn’t see him -- not that anyone was likely to focus on him over her. She reached down and grabbed the duvet, peeling it back to reveal the naked man waiting for her just underneath. What she found was  _ far _ more than she expected. Barbara of course did more homework than just scout out John’s apartment -- she was going to be fucking him bareback and needed to know that was safe. She knew from that research he was a skinny, limber guy, and she knew from his confession that he was a virgin.

But holy  _ fuck _ , she never would have expected him to have such a massive dick. Barbara’s lips parted automatically, her mouth beginning to water thoughtlessly. She thought the two thugs from the other night were hung, but John’s cock put them to shame. And he was a  _ virgin _ ? “Good fucking god,” she whispered to herself. “What a monster.” She meant that in the best way possible, of course, at least for the most part. Barbara swung a leg up on the bed and crawled forward, placing a hand on John’s hip and tugging on it to roll him onto his back.

“Jonathan Smith,” Barbara growled, low and feminine, as the man opened his eyes, wide awake and clearly not asleep at all. He lost the fight to hold back his grin, though it turned tentative at her tone. “You’ve failed the women of Gotham City, hiding this glorious cock from them. Tonight, I have to punish you for that,” she threatened him, her soft hands going to his thighs and urging them open so she could crawl between them, putting her face just a few inches away from his hard and eager cock. “I’m going to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.”

“Uh…” Though Barbara’s tone had caught John off guard, her words eased his nerves. He flushed with nervous excitement, grinning almost like a kid in a candy store. “Sorry about that?” he tried, though Barbara barely heard him. His breath hitched as she came to rest her slender digits more fully on his inner thigh, and it caught entirely as her other hand’s fingers curled just under the crown of his cock, giving a slow stroke down his thick length. “Shit,” he grunted. “I’m not--”

“--sorry at all?” Barbara interrupted, her fingers shifting, flattening her palm against the base of pelvis. She smirked up at him, her eyes lidding heavily. “We’ll see how you feel by the end of this, cockboy.” The daughter of Gotham’s police commissioner licked her full lips, then darted in to kiss the underside of her virgin fan’s cock, shutting him up entirely. She began to trail her way up his dick, peppering him with tiny kisses and kitten licks that soon left that side of his shaft damp with her worshipful love and saliva.

“Honestly,” she breathed as she reached the crown of his cock, her warm breath washing hot and warm over his sensitive skin, “the fucking  _ gall _ you’ve got, walking around with this monster in your pants and never letting it out to play.” Barbara smirked up at him, her eyes gleaming with lust as she teased him. Her fingers curled around his cock again, stroking halfway up his shaft as she wriggled in closer to his thighs. “You’re worse than a thousand Riddlers, easily. With a superpower like this, think of all the good you could do for Gotham’s horny damsels.” 

John laughed, warming Barbara’s heart. She was glad he could take a little honest ribbing, cut as it was with a  _ very _ genuine compliment. That said, she didn’t want him  _ laughing _ right now. Now that she was closer to his cock, she could lift her head and kiss the underside of his dick’s regal crown, then flick her tongue out to tease its underside. That put a quick end to his mirth, and he sucked in an audible breath a moment later when her tongue ran over the little slit that would soon give her a bounty of cum.

Barbara leaned her head back from him. She didn’t need to fake the soft moan that let him know just how satisfied she was with his taste, his stiffness, his warmth. “Tell me honestly,” she whispered as though she were confiding in him, knowing that she was breaking character and knowing that her audience could hear every word of it, “Are you really a virgin? I expected you to bust the moment my tongue touched you,” she continued, half-teasing him with her honesty. 

“Y-yeah, I wasn’t lying--” John began, quick and earnest, but Barbara interrupted his answer, tilting his cock down and slapping its head against her cheek and then the flat of her tongue, a wanton amusement playing openly across her face at his groan. She played with him a moment longer, nuzzling her cheek into the thick head of his dick, then started to kiss her way right back down his incredible shaft once more. This time, she went lower than his base, running her tongue over the wrinkled pouch that held his testicles, relishing not just his taste and smell but the sound of him moaning his appreciation. “Oh, fuck,” he whispered.

And that was before she took one of his nuts into her mouth, her hand slip-sliding up and down his length while she worshipped his balls. Though she would never admit it out loud, Barbara loved a good pair of balls almost as much as she loved a big cock. They were always fun to play with -- a reliable weak spot on any man that could transform even the most stoic billionaire or dark knight into putty. 

That was something she could attest to from experience. Sucking Bruce’s cock was just a way for her to get back at Dick, but even Gotham’s original caped crusader’s cock paled when it came to her John’s dick. Barbara marveled at her sheer  _ luck _ that it was him, out of all her fans, that won the raffle. Once she left both of his balls damp, Barbara once again kissed and licked her way up his shaft, flattening her palm against the base of his pelvis again. “Hey,” she whispered to him, her lips curling with a smile that she knew was slutty. “Do you want to see a magic trick?” she asked, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his cock. 

“Uh…” John wetted his lips. “Yeah,” he told her, his eyelids hanging heavy over his eyes. She probably could have gotten him to say yes to anything at that point, but Barbara knew that with great power came great responsibility. For an  _ almost _ completely normal human woman, great cocksucking was one hell of a power. Barbara’s slutty smile turned into a fleeting grin, displayed for only a second before she parted her lips and took him into the warm, wet sanctity of her mouth. 

It had been a while since Barbara had deepthroated a real dick. Both she and John were lucky that she had been practicing with her biggest batdildo. The head of his cock was only in her mouth for a split second before it was passing through, penetrating her throat and obstructing her precious airway. Barbara didn’t stop or slow for a second, leaning up and bowing her head over his cock, swallowing inch after inch of it while improbably keeping her gag reflex from kicking in. “Oh, fuck,” John moaned out. Up until that point, he had been a good boy and had managed to keep his hands to himself, fingers knotting in the sheets under him. She didn’t begrudge him grabbing the sides of her cowl and pushing lightly down. More than anything, she was impressed that he still hadn’t nutted.

Barbara let her glistening eyes close entirely, moaning around him in turn and sealing her lips around his thickness, letting her humming vibrations carry through him. She sucked in a breath through her nostrils, sure she had swallowed as much as she could possibly manage, but wanting to go all the way for her first fan fuck. After a pause, she swallowed and swallowed, working her tight throat muscles while pushing her head willingly down on him. The only daughter of Gotham’s police commissioner could  _ feel _ this stranger’s short and curlies brush against her lips, but the base of his pelvis eluded her. 

Even with all her practice, she wasn’t used to having something in her throat  _ this _ long, or this deep. Her gag reflex was starting to come into play, trying to force out the invader, not caring one bit that Barbara had practically taken his cock by the hand and led him inside her.  _ Just a little more _ \-- she thought. 

Kissing John’s pelvis with his cock lodged in her throat became Barbara’s only care in the world, her obsession. She slid her hand off his base entirely, grabbing his other thigh and squeezing the muscles on both as she fought and forced her way down, tears leaking from her eyes and trailing down the cheeks of her cowl. Beneath it, her real cheeks were burning bright with an aroused flush and an angry strain.

And then -- the last inch gave way, and she could feel her lips pillow her face against him. She moaned around him, half happy and half relieved, giving the glorious cock the kiss it  _ really _ deserved before beginning to pull off of him, popping off his cock with a giant gasp. “Oh, fuck,” she groaned breathlessly, hanging strands of saliva still connecting him to her. “You-- still haven’t cummed,” she observed as she panted for breath, slowly pushing herself up from her prone position. “God  _ damn _ , John.”

“I’m close,” her lucky fan mumbled, his gaze caught by the sway of her breasts. Barbara gave him a trembling grin, unable to hold the expression steady while she fought to fill her lungs with fresh air. She knew just the thing to give him, if that was the case. Wordlessly, she shifted and scooted back on the bed, crooking a finger at him right before she sank on to her back.

“C’mon and fuck it out on my tits, then,” Barbara murmured, her voice hot and heavy with lust. Her pussy was mewling desperately for his cock now, but she didn’t want to put it in and then have him pop mere moments in, depriving her audience of the main event -- and probably ruining her chances at her own orgasm. John crawled forward and quickly straddled Barbara’s chest, just in time to stick his cock between her heavy breasts as she cupped them and squeezed them together. She grinned up at him with unabashed lust as he began to clumsily thrust his hips, his hefty balls dragging wetly along her body with each wild pump. It rid her of any doubt that he was a virgin -- the fucker had just won the genetic lottery and wasted his incredible luck up until this point. “C’mon,” she urged him, moving her breasts in tandem with his thrusts, keeping him wrapped in their soft warmth. “C’mon and cum for me, baby.”

He was a good boy. He did what he was told, for the most part. Barbara expected to receive his thick load on her breasts, the perfect canvas for his white paint. He ended up cumming while thrusting up, the head of his cock poking out between the top of her breasts. She half-gasped and half-shrieked as he shot his load over her face, catching her off guard and making her quickly close her eyes. Either his balls were just as ridiculous as his cock and sexual stamina, or the motherfucker hadn’t masturbated in  _ weeks _ . Rope after rope splashed Barbara’s face and cowl, enough that she was sure he could have filled a small bucket -- a small exaggeration, but not  _ too _ far off the mark. The last few shots hit her neck and her chest.

“Fuck,” John groaned as he pulled off her, falling back on his ass on the bed to Barbara’s side.

“Fuck,” Barbara groaned at the exact same time, blinking her eyes rapidly before reaching up to swipe cum off of her eyelids and clear it from her eyelashes. She was going to need to spray down her cowl later and wipe it clean -- but she wasn’t exactly mad about it. The redheaded vigilante flicked out her tongue and lapped up the cum that was left on and around her lips, then sat up slowly, pillaring her weight on one hand. “ _ Fuck _ ,” she repeated with emphasis, almost giggling with horny glee. “You’re… incredible.”

“T--thanks,” John gasped, closing his eyes and leaning back, just panting for breath, his afterglow hitting him like a bag of bricks. Unluckily for him, it wasn’t one Barbara intended to let him enjoy until she could lay there and enjoy it with him. She crawled right back between his carelessly splayed thighs, bowing her head once more over his lap and taking his softening cock right back into her mouth, licking the last drips of his thick and delicious load off his slit. “Oh, shit!” Though he gasped and squirmed back reflexively, overly sensitive after cumming, she grabbed his thigh and refused to let go, cleaning him thoroughly. Her other hand dipped under to gently play with his balls, her tongue and fingers working together to restore his cock to its full glory.

He really did win the genetic lottery. His refractory period was just  _ unfair _ to other men. Barbara popped her lips off him one more time, her now swollen lips parting in a grin that matched the whorish gleam in her bright blue eyes. She forgot all about her roleplay or how she should be ‘punishing’ him for holding out on Gotham’s ladies, quickly twisting her hips around and dropping to all fours. Barbara glanced over her shoulder at him as she slid her knees apart and wiggled her hips at him, shaking her peachy bubble of an ass enticingly. “Fuck me,” she demanded, her voice throaty with need. “Get that thick, big cock of yours in my tight little pussy and fuck me like the bat bitch I am.”

She didn’t need to tell him twice. She probably didn’t need to tell him once, not with how inviting her sodden pussy was on its own. John was on Barbara in an instant, fumbling to get his cock into position -- fumbling to get the right angle. Letting out a feminine growl of utter impatience, Barbara reached back and grabbed his long shaft, pressing his cock’s crown right against her entrance. Her lucky fan didn’t need any more help after that, pumping his hips in and sliding right into her snug snatch. “Fuck,” she groaned out, long and husky, her face turning forward again. “That’s-- fuck, that’s good.” Barbara knew that she had a tiny pussy compared to most women, but for her, that just made big dicks all the better. She was more than warmed up and wet enough to take John’s incredible cock. As he thrust deeper into her, she curled her fingers and clawed desperately at the sheets beneath her, her words lost in favor of a wanton moan.

How long had it been since she was stretched out like this? Even  _ half _ like this? Too long. As John grunted and began to pull back to begin thrusting, Barbara reflexively gave chase, her hips pressing back after him, giving a dexterous and instinctive roll to push and stir him around her slick cunt. Her moans were already becoming soft, keening whines. “Come on,” she begged him breathlessly. “Fuck me hard and fast, John. Don’t-- don’t do this slowly. I want your cum in me.”

Her lucky fan paused, then slammed his way into her very depths, his rough thrust jolting Barbara’s body forward and making her gasp out. “Fuck, yes!” she cried out, aware she was panting like a bitch in heat -- aware that the control she thought she had over this situation when she entered John’s apartment was all but eroded. He gave Barbara exactly what she wanted, reaching out to grab a handful of her thick red hair and jerk it back, pulling her head back and making her crane her neck. 

She howled her approval just before she screamed her pleasure, the pressure in her pent-up cunt building quickly and hitting its crescendo in no time at all. “John!” she cried out as he pumped away into her pussy as it began to spasm wildly with the sheer power of her orgasm. Her finger tore at the sheets beneath them. “JOHN!” It wasn’t even his real name, but she couldn’t remember what that was -- hell, her peak hit her with enough force that she could barely remember who  _ she _ was. Barbara’s body trembled in spastic starts and fits, the arms holding her up giving out, leaving her face down and ass up, her lover’s cock an anchor keeping her hips up.

One orgasm bled into another for Barbara, and then another, and John kept fucking her. He kept pulling her hair; he started slapping her ass, each powerful blow of his hand making her gasp out with increasing shrillness. He mastered her body in a way no virgin should have been able to, all while barely managing to hold on himself, pounding her perfect pussy like a man possessed. The cam girl and her lucky fan both sheened with sweat, highlighting every aspect of her perfect nubile body and his more average one, her long red hair going wild.

At some point, Barbara’s normally secure cowl slipped off entirely, built to survive rigorous activity but nothing to  _ this _ scale. Neither lover noticed it in the moment, and it was another stroke of John’s ridiculous luck that prevented Barbara’s secret identity from being revealed to the eight hundred thousand people watching the show live. As he finally began to near his own orgasm, his fingers slid down and pushed her head into the bedding on impulse. The chat went wild, half of them wanting him to pull her unmasked face up and reveal it to the world, while the other half argued for respecting Batgirl’s privacy -- they felt if she was putting out content  _ this _ good, she deserved it.

Growling his satisfaction, John gave one final thrust into Barbara’s incredibly tight pussy and let loose the ropes of war, shot after shot of his cum pouring right into her womb and coating the slick and twitching walls of her cunt with his baby batter. Near senseless and unmasked, the wet splashing sensation inside Barbara’s cunt pushed her into her final orgasm. Barely able to think, she didn’t even begin to try keeping track of how many she had. They were all wildly powerful and bled into one another. This last one was weaker, and more memorable for it -- a soft twitch and a gasp of her exhausted body that finally marked the end of her evening.

Barbara’s world dimmed and faded away as she passed out on John’s bed altogether, her original plan of fucking him hard, fast and putting him away wet all but forgotten. She was planning on resuming her stream afterwards with his load left in her cunt, but that was off the menu now. Barbara slept, and John slept with her, equally tired as he pulled out of her and sank to the bed beside her. After an hour of the pair laying around limply, the cam shut itself down. 

They had an awkward conversation in the morning, and a much more relaxed one that night. A week later, Barbara hired him to scrape the hideous popcorn off her ceiling -- and two weeks later he was living with her, and not just to capstone each of her streams with a fuck. John was an exceptionally lucky fan, but he could never muster up the courage to remind her that his name wasn’t actually John.

**Author's Note:**

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